


Following Orders

by queenhomeslice



Series: Devotion [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Chubby Reader, Crushes, Cunnilingus, Curvy Reader, Dom/sub Undertones, F/F, First Kiss, First Time, Niflheim (Final Fantasy XV), Virgin Reader, fat reader, plus size reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:55:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24651925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenhomeslice/pseuds/queenhomeslice
Summary: Your devotion to Commodore Highwind is taken to new heights.
Relationships: Aranea Highwind/Reader
Series: Devotion [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2082714
Comments: 8
Kudos: 32





	Following Orders

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with Square Enix or any production studios behind the Final Fantasy franchise or Final Fantasy XV; I am not making money from this work and I do not own the rights to FF in any way.
> 
> *This work uses the words pussy and cunt to refer to the female anatomy.*

Commodore Aranea Highwind is mischievous, terrifying, and beautiful. She’s so much more, but if asked to describe her in just three words, those are the ones that come to the forefront of your mind. 

It’s not always easy, working as a military data analyst in the mercenary’s squad, but it’s honest work, and the one thing you’re good at. You’d gotten top marks on the military placement test in high school; and even though you’d initially been afraid of being dismissed for being too heavy, Brigadier General Ulldor had recommended you to the Third Army Corps 87th Airborne Unit. You suspected it was meant to be some sort of slight against the Commodore, assigning an awkward fat girl to her unit—Aranea was known for her loud opinions, her casual manner of speaking (which irked High Commander Ravus to no end), and her penchant for only having humans in her division of the Niflheim army...but she’d accepted you all the same, never putting you down because you weren’t a fighter. “We need just as many people behind the scenes as we do on the front lines,” she’d said on your second day when you were too nervous to leave your living quarters in her new trainee boot camp. 

Since then, Aranea always made sure to make you feel important, and knowing that the beautiful commodore relied on your technical skills pushed you to work even harder for her and for the army. 

And, well, if you fell in love with her along the way, that was something you could keep quiet, right? Something to think about when you are alone in your bunk at night, sweating under the sheets, thinking about what she might look like without all that armor on—what she wears underneath it, or _doesn’t_ wear. You can keep quiet the fact that you literally hang on her every word and live for her approval. Devotion only makes you a better soldier, right? 

_Fuck._

_____ 

You gulp as you knock on the door to Commodore Highwind’s personal quarters. You’d been summoned earlier, and it’s five minutes before the time the Commodore had personally requested you. You assume the resting position to stifle your fidgeting hands—chubby hands clasped behind your back, spine straight, knees slightly bent. You close your eyes and breath, going through several anxiety-calming mantras in your head. 

The _whoosh_ of the automatic door breaks the silences a minute later. “__________,” says that lovely voice. 

You open your eyes, and the heat that rushes to your face is dizzying. 

Aranea Highwind is standing in the open door frame, black bra over her ample chest, gray army sweatpants tied low on her thin, narrow hips. She’s barefoot, and her silver hair is falling loosely around her face and over her shoulders. Her plump, soft lips spread into a smile. 

“Hey,” she says, stepping aside. “Come in, please.” 

The worry that this is any sort of reprimand slowly begins to filter out of your mind. You relax from the resting position and enter the Commodore’s private quarters. The door swishes shut, and Aranea moves past you to sit on the edge of her full bed. You make no more movement, say no other words as you feel the scrutiny of her dazzling green eyes. You’re dressed in the standard-issue white army shirt, Imperial logo on the back, and in the same sweatpants that Aranea herself is wearing, though yours are probably three times bigger. 

She laughs, finally, clasping her small hands on top of her slender thighs. “This is gonna sound...weird.” 

You stare at her, tilting your head in confusion. “I’m sure it won’t be, ma’am, if you just...” 

“No formalities here, please.” She cuts you off with a wave of her hand. “You can call me by my name, as I’ve done with you.” 

You inhale sharply and nod. “...Aranea,” you say reverently. “Whatever you need me to do, you only need to ask.” 

Is the Commodore herself blushing? Or is it the heat of the stuffy room? You dare not hope. “Ah,” she says, laughing again. “I’m just afraid that this will come off as...not proper. And I’d hate to lose you. You’re a valuable member of my team.” 

You glow with pride, chest puffing up in spite of yourself. Aranea praising you, even for the smallest of things, is high on your rather long list of kinks (most of which revolve around the Commodore anyway, but no one needs to know that). You shake your head, attempting to put her at ease. “There are very few things you could say that would make me leave the army. Leave you.” You hope you’re not sounding too desperate. You’ve talked like this before to Aranea, but not really in such a private, intimate setting. Not really when she’s been half-dressed, green eyes wide with affection. 

“Well,” she says, standing. “Just watch me, then.” She stands, and her next few movements threaten to have you fainting on the floor from sheer arousal. She reaches her arms behind her back and unclasps her black bra, letting it drop to the floor. She slides the gray sweatpants down, stepping one foot out and then the other, dumping them on top of her bra. The only thing that’s left is the pair of sinfully small black panties—that follows, topping the crumpled sweatpants like the cherry on a sundae. 

You can only stare at the Commodore, naked, in all her petite and busty glory. You keep trying to find a flaw on her body but you can’t. You unconsciously lick your lips as she nervously meets your gaze. 

“It’s been quite some time since I’ve been intimate,” she says, sitting on the edge of her bed again, perfect feet flat on the cold linoleum floor. She spreads her legs, and _oh—_ the curtains match the drapes, and Aranea’s pussy looks like the best meal you’ve never had. 

“Why me?” your voice is squeaky, throat dry. The Commodore took you from zero to sixty in literal seconds, just by getting naked. You swallow, forcing yourself to make saliva, and clear your throat. “Why me, Aranea?” you repeat, sounding a little more like yourself. 

She shrugs. “I really like you. You’re the only one I can think of that I'd like to do this with.” 

You nod, not wanting to argue, in case she changes her mind. _Oh gods, please don’t change your mind._

“Come here,” she says. “And kneel.” 

You just barely refrain from moaning at the commands, shuffling awkwardly to the bed, kneeling down on chunky legs in front of the vision of silver and softness. You look up at your superior officer—Shiva could enter the room right now and you’d still call Aranea a higher goddess than her, and you’d take the title of blasphemer any day, and you won’t even care. Not when you’re looking at the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen in your life. 

“Have you done this before?” She reaches out and cups your chubby, round face in her hands—her skin is calloused from years of wielding her fierce Magitech lance. 

You shake your head. “No one’s ever wanted me like this,” you say quietly, tears forming. “How could they? I’m not pretty, I’m not—” 

“Hush,” she says, stroking your wet cheek. “I promise to reciprocate. But you’re a woman, too, yes? You’ve touched yourself, surely. You know what feels good. Use your instinct. Don’t worry, I’ll guide you.” 

You nod, sniffing hard. “Of course I touch myself. How could I not, being by your side all these months?” 

“Oh,” sighs Aranea. “That makes me feel...” 

“I want to please you,” you blurt, words coming out in an anxious waterfall. “I want to be devoted to you in every way. I want to be so good for you. I would do anything you asked of me without question.” 

Aranea smiles lovingly, and bends down. 

Her lips are _so_ soft, full and pink and perfect. You’ve never really kissed before, either, so you let her take the lead, moaning softly as she explores your open mouth with her tongue. After a minute or two you attempt to catch the rhythm and push back, chasing her lips with yours. 

“Perfect,” she says as she pulls back. “That your first kiss, too?” 

You nod. “Sorry if I was bad, I promise I’ll get better, I...” 

“You’re a quick learner. Wasn’t bad. Besides, I’ll give you all the practice you want.” She spreads her legs again and leans back on her elbows, gazing down at you. “Please,” she says, lifting one hand to spread herself before you. “And don’t be afraid to touch me.” 

She’s ethereal—you want to devour every inch of her, inexperience be damned. You gently place your hands on the tops of her slender, supple thighs, rubbing up and down. Her skin is so _soft,_ so pinkish pale—you shiver as you feel the smooth flesh wrinkle into goosebumps under your caress. 

“___________,” the Commodore moans softly, tilting her head back, closing her eyes in pleasure. The hand on her pussy moves to rest on top of your hair, gripping it firmly but not enough to hurt—still, you can’t help the desperate sound she pulls from your wet lips. Her head snaps up. “Oh, you like that, do you?” 

You can only nod, licking your lips. 

“Interesting.” Aranea tightens her grip and pulls you forward until you fall face-first between her legs. 

Your hands wander along the outsides of her thighs until they’re gripping her soft, round ass. Holding on for dear life, you nose into Aranea’s core, letting your tongue settle gently between her folds. 

“Yes,” the Commodore breathes, ample chest already heaving in anticipation. 

You’ve tasted yourself after release, so you’re not unfamiliar with the smell and taste of a warm, wet cunt—but Aranea tastes so much sweeter than you could’ve ever imagined. You lap around her folds, tasting every inch of her that she allows. 

She directs you by pulling on your hair, urging you to speed up or slow down in breathless pleas. You cling to every soft whimper, every begging word that you draw from her mouth. That _you’re_ making her feel this way, that _you’re_ taking her apart—it's almost too much to comprehend. Aranea grinds her pussy against your face, not caring that you’re struggling to get a full breath. You’re drowning in her, gripping her soft rear as you finally move to her swollen clit and begin to flick your tongue against it, sucking and kissing in a feverish rhythm. 

Your legs are numb. Time has ceased to exist. All you know is the Commodore. She’s assaulting all five of your senses, and you’d be content to die right here and now, between her legs, servicing her in the most delicate of ways, jaw burning with the effort of eating her out. But who are you to care, when you are being given the most precious gift in the world, tasked with the most perfect of missions? 

“__________,” Aranea cries, once-loose grip in your hair tightening. “I’m so close, baby, please, please...” 

_Baby_. Oh, that lights a fire deep in your nerves. Surging with renewed energy, you concentrate all of your attention on her clit—and then she’s whining high and loud, convulsing beneath you, squeezing your head with her strong thighs, release surging out of her in a deluge. 

“Fingers,” she manages to gasp. “Inside of me, please—” 

Her hand falls away from your head, and you quickly lift one hand from her ass and stick one finger inside of her fluttering muscle, pumping lightly, giving her something to buck hard against. 

The Commodore’s breathy moans finally grow into quiet, post-coital whimpers. She flops hard against the mattress, boneless and pliant. You gently withdraw your fingers, licking her juices from them. Even if this is a one-time deal— _please gods let this happen again—_ you're feeling more satisfied than you’ve ever been in your life. 

“Fuck,” says Aranea after another minute, sitting up on her elbows again. “That was...great. You’re sure that you’re a virgin?” 

You chuckle, wiping her slick from around your mouth and chin. You can’t help but stare at her breasts—what you wouldn’t give to touch and suck on them. “Scout’s honor,” you say, gazing into her green eyes with love. 

“Huh,” she says, voice light. “Well, if you give me another minute to recover, I’d be happy to remedy that. Unless...” 

“Dear gods, no,” you blurt, shifting on your sore knees. “Please fuck me.” 

Aranea laughs and sits up fully. “With pleasure, _________. Lose the clothes.” 

“Yes ma’am.” Who are you to ever refuse an order from Aranea Highwind? 


End file.
